


paint over my feelings

by yanjunslut



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Jaehyun is an angel, Light Angst, M/M, One Shot, doyoung is a bitch, film major!sicheng, poet!doyoung, sicheng is messy, writer!jaehyun, yes they fuck but barely thats not the plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-24 03:47:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20351875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yanjunslut/pseuds/yanjunslut
Summary: sicheng told jaehyun not to fuck doyoung // sicheng dances around feelings, and jaehyun just wants to dance with himdoyoung wild





	paint over my feelings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wenjunslut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wenjunslut/gifts).

> for @wenjunslut on twitter, because i love her and she told me to
> 
> hmu on @sichengciity or @yanjunslut <33333

Class is already overtime by five minutes when the professor finally wraps up explaining next week’s assignment, and Jaehyun cracks his back three times in his chair before grabbing his already packed bag and slipping out the door first.

It was English class, and each student had to prepare a five minute long speech on who they believed themselves to be, to speak on their hobbies and dreams rather than the basic facts they already knew with ease. Jaehyun’s English was perfect, given he lived overseas for a few years, but it saved him taking a class he would actually have to study for. His workload was big enough already.

Jaehyun isn’t stressed at all, already knowing the basics of what he intends to say. He’ll speak mostly on his hopes to become a published writer, and go from there.

Something that people never seemed to believe or understand was that exactly. Why would he be a writer, with those looks and that brain and his marvellous sports abilities? Why not get a _real_ job, or be a professional athlete?

He didn’t know if he found these questions easier than constant digs at his interests, or the assumption that he was rich because his mother had always dressed him nicely as a child. No, he isn’t rich, and no, people didn’t only like him for superficial reasons. He used to bear the questions about his family’s finances without any bother, but nowadays they just annoy him no end.

He _was_ always popular in school, although he didn’t think that was something that applied once graduating to university. Jaehyun makes friends easily, no matter where he is. When he was younger it was often unkindly suggested to him that he wasn’t actually interesting, that people only liked him for his looks and sports abilities. Overtime Jaehyun grew to realise he would be just fine if he was comfortable with himself.

He makes his way downstairs to stand in line in the cafeteria (far too long a line for the small bottle of water he wanted, but so be it). Loud conversation stirs up from the table beside the line, and Jaehyun unconsciously listens in.

Poetry, he realises, is what the two students are fighting about.

One of them- a girl with only half her hair dyed a washed-out pink which annoys Jaehyun immediately- is trying desperately to speak, while the boy with her is only a notch below yelling over the top of her. They appear to be handing out some kind of fliers at the same time, although Jaehyun can’t quite see what they’re for.

“I’m done! You can finish this yourself!”

The boy watches the girl stomp away with a wrinkled nose. “My visuals are the only thing bringing in attendees to this stupid ‘poetry rant’ of yours anyway!”

Jaehyun, assessing the boy’s lithe body and jet black hair not wholly subtly, is inclined to agree. He finally reaches the front of the line and pays for his water, only to walk right into Poet Boy as he turns around.

“Sorry, sorry.”

The boy scans him head to toe. “You look fit. Help me carry these boxes to my room.”

He gestures to the two boxes of fliers left on the table.

While some would say ‘fuck off’ and leave, Jaehyun is not one to say no, so he picks up one box- the larger of the two, and it is heavy, with paper and textbooks, he sees- and follows Poet Boy across campus to the dorms, listening with growing concern to the boy rant about how “just anyone can enrol in classes above their intellect these days”.

“I’m Doyoung,” he adds offhandedly, tapping the button for the building elevator.

The make it to the third floor before Jaehyun realises he didn’t reply. “I’m Jaehyun.”

Doyoung smirks. “I’m glad you took the time to make sure you are indeed Jaehyun.”

Jaehyun flushes. “I’m sure.”

Barely a second after entering the dorm, Doyoung’s phone rings, and he answers it, pointing Jaehyun down the hall and mouthing, ‘last room’.

Jaehyun hefts the box in his arms and sets off toward the room. Quiet music plays from the room just before it, and through the open door he sees someone in his peripheral as he passes by.

Doyoung’s room isn’t particularly clean or messy; it isn’t _dirty_, but rather lived in, clothes scattered on the floor and some empty bottles of alcohol along the window sill by the bed and on the desk. Jaehyun looks about for a place to put the box, and decides to leave it on the floor next to the desk, not wanting to mess anything up.

He closes the door behind him, then opens it again, leaving it half open as he found it, figuring Doyoung the type to prefer things in his own order.

“Hey, you.”

_You as in me or-_

“I heard you close Doyoung’s door, come on in.”

Jaehyun pokes his head into the second bedroom at first, then decides not to be weird and steps into the doorway, resting against the frame. As he does so he sees the owner of the voice watching him with bright eyes and lips slightly quirked up in amusement.

He’s the most beautiful person Jaehyun has ever seen: tousled black hair curled around strikingly pointed ears, and an elegant face with the prettiest shaped eyes. He’s tall- definitely taller than Jaehyun- and his shoulders are visibly broad under the plain white t-shirt he wears.

It takes a beat more for Jaehyun to register the paint brush in the boy’s hand, with a bit of blue paint splashed on his hands and shirt. _Doyoung a poet and now this?_ He steps closer, then realises the ‘painting’ on the easel is a mess of meaningless shapes and splashes of different colours, and hopes the boy isn’t an art major for the sake of the poor professor.

“He’ll write you as a whore, because he writes everyone as a whore,” the boy says candidly, and Jaehyun notes that if he learnt anything in art class in school it was that that was _definitely not_ the right way to hold a paintbrush, but judging by the abomination on the easel he tells himself the boy probably doesn’t give a fuck. “I’m Sicheng by the way.”

“Jaehyun.” He thinks about extending his hand, but there’s blue paint all over the Sicheng’s hands, and Jaehyun can already tell this boy is the type to make messes on purpose. He settles for a dimple flash instead, then asks, “what do you mean, ‘he’ll write me’?”

Sicheng studies him. “You’re going to fuck him, right?”

“Wh-what?” Jaehyun reddens, never one to be particularly forward up front, especially to total strangers.

“Well, you think Doyoung’s hot don’t you?”

“… yes? I just met him!”

Sicheng spreads his paint smattered palms as if that answered everything. “After whatever hipstery-artiste shit he’s invited you to then.”

“He hasn’t,” Jaehyun interjects, wondering if this boy ever makes any sense.

The paint brush in Sicheng’s hand needs a good wash, he decides, not voicing this aloud. And it was bristly, as if always pressed way too hard against the paper.

A glance at it as Sicheng starts up again tells him that is the case.

“You seem to know him well,” Jaehyun ventures. “Are you close?”

“Doyoung doesn’t really do friends.” Sicheng’s eyes twinkle. “But close enough.”

A shout from the other room causes Jaehyun to back up, but Sicheng points his ruined paintbrush at him threateningly. “Don’t fuck him.”

Jaehyun blinks as Sicheng turns away, seemingly done talking, and he fights the urge to run out as the boy in the kitchen begins to yell more sharply.

“There’s a slam poetry reading tonight in the library. Come with me.”

***

Jaehyun stands in front of his long mirror, naked save for a pair of boxers.

Slam poetry reading.

Not Jaehyun’s thing. Not by a mile. But Doyoung’s ass _is_, so Jaehyun tucks himself into washed out blue jeans and the only patterned button-up he owns and forces himself into a crowd of cardigans and square rimmed glasses.

A girl sits beside him and Jaehyun immediately feels the urge to sneeze. He sneaks a look at her, sees the white cat hairs littered all over her sweater, and shuffles closer to Doyoung, wrinkling his nose.

His phone buzzes, and he glances down to see a new message from an unknown number.

_Don’t fuck him. _

Jaehyun stifles a laugh and puts the phone back in his pocket, wondering how Sicheng had found him so quickly.

Amidst one girl’s half-sobbed plea to the audience to _leave that shitty controlling boyfriend behind_, Doyoung grabs Jaehyun’s wrist and shoves past the irritated attendees in their row, barging straight into the last cubicle in the bathrooms where he sucks Jaehyun off so good Jaehyun sees stars.

Afterwards Doyoung returns to recite his own words- angry, hot, sexy (???)- and Jaehyun simultaneously decides that Doyoung is crazy, and that its one hundred percent worth it.

So, heedless of Sicheng’s words, he goes home with Doyoung and fucks him stupid into the mattress.

Doyoung goes to shower straight after, and Jaehyun pulls his clothes back on and walks out. With a jolt of surprise he registers that Sicheng’s bedroom door is wide open and Sicheng is there, back turned and facing his easel. 

He walks past quickly, not expecting the other to say anything but not wanting to leave it to chance, either. On his way home remembers that the door was open when they arrived, and he realises then that Doyoung must have known Sicheng was home, and yet didn’t point it out or bother to be quiet at all, and honestly Jaehyun doesn’t know what to make of that.

At the very least, the sex was every bit as good as he anticipated.

***

Doyoung uploaded his poetry two days later, and he did write Jaehyun as a whore, and Jaehyun did read it despite Sicheng’s deliberate text, _do not read it_.

Jaehyun pondered the words all day, wondering what percentage he should be offended when Doyoung honestly painted his sexual expertise in a rather flattering manner despite it all.

He decides not to take offense.

After dinner, Jaehyun intends to go straight back to his room, but winds up at Doyoung and Sicheng’s dorm instead. He doesn’t know why, and says as much to Sicheng when the taller boy opens the door.

“You fucked him,” Sicheng says by way of reply.

Jaehyun sighs. “I did.” He wonders if he should have spoken more apologetically, sensing the white-hot anger radiating from the boy before him, but doesn’t have the energy to, nor understand it.

“I told you not to,” Sicheng says, and then, “he let you top. He never lets me top.”

His words sink in and Jaehyun knits his brows. “You fucked him?”

“Multiple times,” Sicheng says coolly.

Jaehyun throws his hands in the air. “Then why the fuck are you so mad at me?”

“Because I warned you not to.”

“Did I get between you two? Because I-”

“Just go.”

***

One week later, a figure flops down beside Jaehyun on the corner couch he’s curled up on in the library.

“What are you writing?”

Jaehyun glances up at Sicheng’s pretty face with brief surprise, but chooses to conceal it. “I don’t know.”

“Hard at work, then.”

“Not really.”

Sicheng rolls his eyes, mutters something about “dumb boys” and walks away.

Jaehyun wonders if Sicheng knows he watched him go until he was out of sight, or if he wore those incredibly tight black jeans to make sure he did.

“God, I am dumb.”

***

He goes to their apartment that evening, and once again only Sicheng is home.

He doesn’t know what he’s there for- again- but Sicheng doesn’t question it, and Jaehyun feels like the other boy expected him to come.

Sicheng gestures for Jaehyun to sit on the couch, while he goes back to the table where his laptop is.

“So you write,” he says, to break the ice a little.

Jaehyun nods. “But I don’t know what you do.”

“Well I’m no artist,” Sicheng flicks a grin toward him, “I’m just a film major. Of sorts. I take any and every class that will give me the biggest chance to work in an animation studio one day. It’s all I’ve ever wanted since I was a kid.”

“I’m sure you’ll get there,” Jaehyun says sincerely, and he is sure. Sicheng seems the type to get whatever he goes after. “I’ve wanted to be a writer since I was a kid. Not,” he stifles a laugh, “that I want to write the way Doyoung does.”

“To be fair, it was nicer than anything Doyoung had ever written before,” Sicheng offers.

“I don’t mind anyway.”

He blinks when Sicheng stands up with his laptop and comes to sit beside him on the couch.

“What type of films do you like?”

Jaehyun hums. “I like all sorts. I really like romantic films though. Or… stories with a happy ending. Simple, happy stories appreciating life.”

Sicheng watches him. “I like those, too.” He tilts his head. “One day you can write a screenplay, and I will produce the film. Then we both win.”

Jaehyun laughs. “Done.”

Doyoung comes home at some point, dropping his bags in his room and returning to the kitchen to fetch a wine bottle from the fridge. He flicks the two a quick glance as he takes a long swig from the glass, then scoops up a packet of cigarettes off the bench and walks out to the balcony. 

Sicheng comments that he doesn’t like wine, and he detests smoking more than anything.

Jaehyun states he hates both.

“Good,” Sicheng says, and then they talk shit about smokers and drinkers for the next hour until Sicheng passes out cold on the couch.

Jaehyun is in the middle of covering him with the couch blanket when the balcony door opens.

“Don’t think I didn’t hear y’all talking smack about me.” Doyoung says, then stops still, surveying the scene before him with an expression that is almost soft. “Don’t make me write more about you.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“You’re not that bad,” and Doyoung gives a shockingly cute gummy half-smile and goes straight to his room.

Jaehyun stays a minute longer, looking down fondly at Sicheng and his cute ears, then goes back to his room deep in thought.

***

On a particularly busy day spent entirely on writing for his folio, Jaehyun decides he’s too tired to cook and doesn’t want shitty takeaway. He enters a Chinese restaurant on campus, ready to eat and go home and collapse into bed.

When the waiter asks him whether he’d like a table, Jaehyun answers, “yes please, for one.”

“For two,” a voice corrects from behind him, and that’s how Jaehyun winds up spending the entire evening with Sicheng.

They talk about all kinds of things throughout dinner, and when it’s over, Jaehyun announces he’s going to take a walk in the garden.

He doesn’t question Sicheng once, doesn’t mention anything that will force Sicheng to acknowledge that he is with Jaehyun, and Jaehyun with him, because he just knows Sicheng will disappear as soon as Jaehyun voices the reality.

Instead, Jaehyun contents himself with the knowledge that as he walks through the campus park he can just hear the faint singing of the boy walking beside him, and when he enters the late-night café at eleven p.m. he doesn’t dare look behind him to the sound of pattering footsteps, feeling for all the world like an Orpheus holding back from turning to his Eurydice.

The waiter brings them their drinks- the only time Sicheng has spoken in almost twenty minutes now- and before Jaehyun has time to take a sip of his own, Sicheng steals it from his grasp.

Jaehyun responds by taking a sip of Sicheng’s- something smooth and caramel and sweet- then waits for Sicheng to pass his own back.

Sicheng notices him watching and looks up at him through his lashes, downing far more than Jaehyun took from his.

He slides back the drink and Jaehyun asks, “do you want to go out sometime?”

“No.”

***

He doesn’t see Sicheng for two weeks, and then he sees him every week. For three months in a row they are together, but never with a solid plan. Jaehyun accepts that if Sicheng wants to see him then he will.

In the final week before holidays, Doyoung calls out to him across the courtyard.

Jaehyun waves confusedly, continuing on to class.

“Jaehyun! Wait!”

He checks his watch. Two minutes until class begins, and it takes four minutes to reach level four. He sighs but waits anyway, and when Doyoung reaches him puffing from the run all he says is, “quickly.”

Doyoung nods. “Sicheng has been sick the past week.”

Jaehyun frowns. “He would text me if he wanted me to know.”

“No, he wouldn’t,” Doyoung shakes his head. “He’s an idiot. I think he’d like to see you.”

“I have assignments.”

That’s a yes from Jaehyun, and Doyoung knows it. He smiles his gummy smile. “You’re welcome by any time.”

“I know.”

***

Soft music tinkles through the dorm door to Jaehyun standing outside. He recognises it; it’s the soundtrack of _My Neighbour Totoro_. Actually, this isn’t the first time Sicheng has had the film playing in Jaehyun’s presence. He wonders if it’s his favourite movie.

The door is open, as he expected, and he walks in quietly. Sicheng- bundled in his large yellow doona and strongly resembling a baby chick- doesn’t look up at first, expecting him to be Doyoung.

“How are you feeling?”

Sicheng jolts upwards with a shriek. “Who let you in?”

Jaehyun rolls his eyes, dropping his bag to the floor and approaching the couch. “Nobody, it’s not my fault you two don’t lock your door.”

“Stay back!” Sicheng holds out his hand like Iron Man. “I’m sick. I have a cold.”

“I know. Doyoung told me.”

“Doyoung- .” Sicheng breaks off with a sigh. “I look ugly and puffy and my throat is all husky. Don’t see me like this.”

Jaehyun ignores him and settles on the other side of the couch, noting no physical resistance from the other as he lifts Sicheng’s legs and places them on his lap, then covers himself in the other blanket. He wriggles his brows stupidly. “Husky is sexy.”

Sicheng flings the remote at him. “Shut up!”

Jaehyun bursts into laughter.

“And pick it up.” Sicheng adds, “please.”

They sit in silence for the rest of the film, and Jaehyun hadn’t realised how much closer Sicheng had inched toward him during the time until he feels Sicheng’s head on his shoulders in the final scene.

As Satsuki and Mei sway peacefully in the Catbus onscreen, Jaehyun questions, “why do you paint like that?”

Sicheng tilts his head to look up at Jaehyun. “Like shit?”

Jaehyun shrugs.

“I- ,” he exhales, seemingly in defeat. “I don’t know.”

Jaehyun says nothing, sensing that Sicheng just needs to get his thoughts together.

Sicheng’s hand above the blanket begins to flutter nervously, so Jaehyun takes it and squeezes it.

“Take your time.”

Sicheng smiles softly at him. “They’re just letters. Texts,” he amends, after a beat. “When I was ten, I wrote a love letter to a boy in my class. I really liked him, and I guess I hadn’t thought too hard about the possibility of him rejecting me. When he did, handed me back the letter. I took it home and didn’t really know what to do with it.”

Jaehyun finds himself a little stung by the idea of a small, heartbroken Sicheng. He runs his other hand through Sicheng’s curls, and Sicheng leans into his touch.

“I started scribbling over it with one of my textas, but it didn’t feel like enough. I wanted everything I wrote to be completely erased. So I went into my mother’s room and took her favourite paints out of her cupboard and just… went to town. I also ruined my white writing desk, so I got into a lot of shit for that.”

Jaehyun chuckles, now picturing a defiant young Sicheng. Probably not so different from Sicheng now. 

“I didn’t send another letter for ages after that,” Sicheng continues. “And by high school it was the texts between me and boys who seemed to like me, and then one day didn’t anymore. But I kept up my routine, and just started printing the texts to paint over. Sometimes I paint real pictures. Other times it’s just nothing. It’s pointless, really.”

“Never pointless to get rid of something that makes you unhappy.”

Sicheng laughs quietly. “That’s not one I’ve heard before. Aside from you, only Doyoung has ever positively responded to it. He says it comes from my soul… or something.”

“Or something,” Jaehyun agrees with a chuckle.

“I make things hard for myself, though.” Sicheng yawns, his words starting to draw out longer. “I’m always after proof that people love me. I push people away when I like them, waiting for them to prove to me that they do want me around, that I’m not the one just chasing, chasing, chasing.”

His head droops further down on Jaehyun’s arm. “You’re not like the others.”

Jaehyun pads down the hall as silently as he can with Sicheng’s weight in his arms, but he thinks he makes it to the bedroom without hitting any major floorboard creaks.

He lowers Sicheng into his bed, taking care not to wake him, but Sicheng’s eyelashes flutter as soon as he hits the pillow.

“Will you stay with me?”

Sicheng wraps his hand around Jaehyun’s. His pouty lips pout even more, and his eyes begin to blink slower and slower under Jaehyun’s watch, but he is determined not to fall asleep until he has his answer. Jaehyun thinks he’s has the wind knocked out of him.

“Please?”

He folds down into the sheets beside Sicheng, who wraps around him and falls asleep less than a minute later, and Jaehyun follows soon after.

Jaehyun wakes up at three a.m., and unwinds Sicheng’s arm from around his waist carefully, then tucks the doona up to his chin.

As he tiptoes out of the room he peaks into Doyoung’s, pleased to see that the older boy is fast asleep in his own bed for once.

He scoops up his bag from the kitchen and makes his way to his own dorm, careful to be silent the entire trip until he flops down into his bed.

Jaehyun spends the next three days bed ridden from a cold, but Sicheng’s mocking texts and a re-watch of _Totoro_ keep him from going out of his mind.

***

_Do you want to come over?_

Jaehyun stares at the text now as he stands in front of Doyoung and Sicheng’s dorm, not yet knocking.

Not come over or I’m bored. But a question.

It should feel completely foreign to Jaehyun. Sicheng never asks, he prefers to give orders and lets Jaehyun follow them as he sees fit. But even so, it isn’t as out of place as it should be. Something in these first few weeks of holidays had begun to shift between them. A comfortable shift.

The door opens then, and Sicheng pokes his head out. “Oh.” He blinks in surprise, a pleasant expression on his face. He opens the door wider for Jaehyun to pass through.

“Why are you so surprised?”

Sicheng blinks again, and Jaehyun wonders why he finds it so adorable. “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t know when you were coming, but I just felt like you were here. And then you were.”

A warm feeling fills Jaehyun’s chest. “Oh.”

After a bout of silence, Sicheng clears his throat. “I just wanted to talk to you?”

Jaehyun smiles. “Are you asking me that?”

“No, no.” A faint flush dances across the apples of Sicheng’s cheeks, and then he blurts out, “how many fights have we had?”

“Seven,” Jaehyun replies instantly. 

Sicheng stares at him, open-mouthed.

“Sorry, rhetorical.”

The taller boy is still silent, still staring at him, and Jaehyun mentally kicks himself for being annoying. 

“You remember what I said to you? That day I was sick?”

Jaehyun nods.

“I told you I’ve sent my whole life chasing after people, hoping they’ll chase me back. Waiting for them to love me.”

He takes a deep breath, and Jaehyun realises there are tears shining in Sicheng’s pretty brown eyes, not yet falling but poised to do so, just waiting.

“I’ve come to realise that I don’t have those expectations or- wants- with you. That if I get mad at you, or if we don’t speak for some time, I’m not scared to see you again. I don’t fear that you’ll get sick of me, or want more than me.” Sicheng meets Jaehyun’s eyes finally, and a tear drops from his lash and rolls down his cheek. He lets out a shaky breath and then whispers to Jaehyun and Jaehyun only, “you’ve never once made me feel unloved.”

The air is thick between them, and Sicheng watches Jaehyun earnestly, more tears silently trailing down his cheeks, his hands balled up in front of him.

Jaehyun reaches out to take them, threads his fingers through Sicheng’s. Softly, simply: “because I love you.”

A loud sob hitches in Sicheng’s throat, and then a stroke of pain hits Jaehyun in the face.

Sicheng stands still, gaping, then hastily wrenches his other hand free to cup Jaehyun’s face, smattering butterfly kisses lightly all over the older boy’s now reddened cheekbone. “I’m sorry, oh my god, it was a reflex, Jae, I can’t believe-”

“Are you always like this?” Jaehyun watches him with wide eyes and gestures to the air around Sicheng. He’s not really sure what he’s talking about. Maybe Sicheng’s aura, fucked if he knows.

Sicheng shrugs one shoulder delicately, hands dropping by his sides again. “No, just a Scorpio.”

“That means nothing to me.”

“Seven fights? Make it eight-”

“No,” Jaehyun says firmly. He steps closer, braces his hand on Sicheng’s shoulder. Not fully covered by his curls, the tips of Sicheng’s ears are visible and flushed pink. Cute. “Not right now at least. I have to- I want to ask-”

“Yes, you can kiss me.”

“I was going to ask if you wanted to go out for beef, but your wish is my command.”

He kisses him then, and it’s like a dam breaking between them, like Jaehyun can finally feel Sicheng’s emotions and feelings wash over him, and Sicheng himself feels like he’s drowning, and wonders why he’d put off letting himself have this for so long.

They pull away before the kiss deepens too much, and Sicheng squints, lips red and swollen. “You weren’t really asking that right?”

Jaehyun chuckles. “No,” and then, “but I would be down for it. In theory.”

Sicheng whacks him across the shoulder but complies anyway, taking Jaehyun’s hand and leading him straight out the door. “Stop annoying me.”

***

It isn’t until a solid two months into their relationship that Sicheng and Jaehyun finally have sex, for the most part because Jaehyun has been determined to “take things slow”, and for another reason being the lack of time alone.

As Sicheng had muttered angrily after trying to get Jaehyun into bed at Jaehyun’s own dorm for the third time in two weeks, “dorms are cock blockers.”

Finally, Sicheng and Jaehyun had felt the timing right and made the setting romantic as Jaehyun wanted it- “as romantic as a dorm room can be”- with rose petals and scented candles and music playing softly in the background.

After hours of intense making out and foreplay and now Sicheng, beautiful and happy, riding him hard into the mattress, Jaehyun can feel himself getting close, closer-

The bedroom door flies open, and a whistle sounds out. “Finally!” Doyoung says grinning.

“What the fuck!”

Jaehyun hastily pulls his blanket up, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Can you stop doing that?” Sicheng yells. Somehow, from his position on Jaehyun’s lap, he manages to hurl a sock at the closing door, although it doesn’t make it all the way out and stays jammed in the closed door.

Jaehyun starts to speed up again, thrusting upwards to meet Sicheng as he tries to get past his shock. “Wait, what do you mean again?” He asks frantically.

Sicheng doesn’t reply, eyes screwed up, moaning deeply in pleasure.

“Sicheng, I’m serious how often does-”

“Fuck!” Sicheng screams out, “yes, yes,” he moans, throwing his head back, “there, fuck… and yeah, from time to time, I guess- ah!”

Jaehyun tries to focus on the golden column of his neck, glistening prettily with sweat, and Sicheng’s dark curls damp and tumbling across his forehead, but he can still hear Doyoung wheezing, now in his bedroom.

Sicheng comes within seconds and then he cups Jaehyun’s face in his palms. “Focus on me, Jae,” he says, melting his lips against Jaehyun’s until Jaehyun forgets for a white-hot moment that Doyoung exists at all.

But only for a minute.

Post-orgasm and breathing heavily, Jaehyun stares up at Sicheng in wonder, and his dazed and confused expression sends Sicheng into a fit of giggles.

“Get a lock then??”

**Author's Note:**

> aren't we all whores for doyoung tho? 
> 
> kudos and comments much appreciated xxx


End file.
